


People Can Change

by Galo



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Allenbert Week 2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9580286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galo/pseuds/Galo
Summary: A collection of all the pieces I wrote for Allenbert Week 2017.





	1. pre-flashpoint au

“Listen, we got off on the wrong foot.”

Yes, true, but Julian isn’t interested in another rehash of the facts. He wants remorse. Regret. He wants a sign that, maybe, just maybe, Barry Allen can change.

Another commendation from Singh goes to Allen. Julian claps tersely as the rest of the precinct applauds Allen on a job well stolen.

“I’m not a bad guy, Jul! You gotta trust me.”

Burn him once, shame on you. Burn him twice, he’ll show you what a living hell looks like, Allen.

So they squabble and they bicker. They yell and they shout. They never agree to disagree, preferring to slam doors and dig their heels in like children.

Julian hates this man with every fiber of his being.

But then Barry Allen becomes the Flash. Barry Allen changes the timeline.

“Can we be friends?”

Julian doesn’t know what to do with this. He hasn’t a clue how to handle the fact that the Barry he knew is gone, that that man no longer exists and has been supplanted by _the real_ Barry Allen.

In a way, Julian misses his Allen, the predictable one who he knows exactly how much and how loudly to bellow at.

“Julian, what did I do to you?”

It’s been so long that the grudge has loosened and dislodged itself. He can’t remember how many times Allen spilled coffee on his reports. Julian stares at this new Barry Allen and shrugs, helplessly lost.

“I don’t know how to help you, Julian.”

See, neither did the other one. That one never helped, only ruined.

Julian closes his eyes and tries to remember the Allen he knew—

“Can we start over?”

Julian has no other choice. He has to relearn who Barry Allen is, even if it means letting go.

(So he lets go, saying good-bye to his anger and his hatred.)

“I forgive you, too.”


	2. hogwarts au

Hornbeam, ten inches, rigid. Julian turns his faithful wand over and over again as he awaits the man who’s been unfortunate enough to see him twice this week now. He won’t lie. A small part of him is pleased to have a legitimate reason to be there.

“Auror Desmond, why am I not surprised?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he gets this wide-eyed look of mortification and throws a hand up to stifle any further unprofessional quips.

Julian quirks a brow as a polite smile warms his lips.

The healer bites back a nervous laugh. “I mean, let’s take a look at what we’ve got here.”

The ache in his side worsens. Julian holds his tongue for as long as he’s can but his body betrays him and seizes his voice. A terrible, pained groan escapes from his lips.

At the healer’s scrutiny, Julian confesses, “I was attacked by a rougarou.”

In the midst of offering him a healing draft, the healer startles and tightens his grasp upon the neck of the bottle. “What were you doing in Louisiana?” The man abandons the potion upon a metal tray to Julian’s right and begins gesticulating towards the ceiling, then at Julian himself. “Did you apparate while you were like this?!”

“What was I supposed to do, bleed out?”

Julian gets a vaguely impressed sneer for his attitude.

“No, you’re not supposed to _bleed out_ , you–” the healer cuts himself off, no doubt on the verge of ignoring professional conduct again. It’s what Julian finds so charming about him. “Just drink this.”

Julian accepts the flask that’s thrust into his face and downs the entire thing. The liquid warms him to his core and there’s a kick to it. He starts coughing as the kick continues to burn somewhere inside his chest.

“Right, I forgot to mention, we use a lot of capsaicin in our potions. Paired with white willow bark and ginseng, it promotes your body’s natural healing abilities.”

Charming, and mischievous. Julian’s interest is so terribly piqued. Can he be any more obvious about it?

“I’ve tasted worse.”

“You are British,” the man mutters under his breath. And although Julian catches the remark, he pretends that something else has caught his attention – the framed scenes on the wall – because that’s what you do when you’re looking to court someone: You convince them that you see no flaws.

One depiction, sepia-toned, is of a wizard dangling from his broom by the ankle. A witch comes into the foreground, scolding the man upright.

The healer notices Julian staring and offers up their names, “The idiot’s Cisco and the responsible one’s Caitlin. She was my mentor and he’s someone I went to Ilvermorny with.”

“Do you keep in touch?”

“Work keeps me pretty busy but we try to. In fact,” – mirth nudges at his lips – “You’re half the reason I haven’t been able to spend time with them.”

Julian has the decency to be bashful about it; he runs a hand through his hair and tries to get away with what his sister calls ‘his roguish charms’.

“Is it true that you guys get sorted by putting on a hat?”

Somewhere along the line, the small talk between patient and caretaker has evolved. Julian’s laughter catches in his throat as he reminisces about his schoolyard days.

“Yes, it’s true.” He can see it in the man’s eyes what he really wants to ask. “Back in Hogwarts, our houses focused more on one’s character than on one’s… what’s the word you’d use?”

“ ‘Aptitude’, maybe? But go on, you were saying?”

Julian fidgets with the sheets, wrapping his finger up in the fabric. He’s always been a tactile sort, fascinated with textures and whatnot. “Gryffindor. We’re known for being brave and foolhardy.”

“I can see that, I mean, _I mean_ , I was sorted into both Wampus and Pukwudgie, you know? I was a dumb kid back then so of course I went with Wampus.” He clears his throat. “In hindsight, though, I think I should’ve gone with the latter.”

“You did well in Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Julian offers.

The healer laughs sheepishly and nods. “Yes. I was the best dueler of my year. It kinda surprised everyone when I decided to become a healer.”

Julian sees the light drain from the healer’s eyes and realizes that he’s struck an old scar, may have even reopened the wound.

“I could’ve been like you, Auror Desmond.”

Julian lapses into silence. The healer joins him in the quiet and fusses over vials and paperwork.

As the healer wraps up, he clears his throat and says to Julian, “It’s Barry, by the way. Barry Allen.”

“Healer Allen,” Julian agrees.

*

The next time Julian sees Allen, it’s not in the infirmary ward but in the healer’s office. Julian lifts his elbow and lets out a horrendous sneeze just as Allen glances up from his desk. “Sorry about that.”

Allen gets up out of his seat and remarks, “You don’t have to come all this way for a Pepperup.”

A small smile settles upon Julian’s face. He’s been clever about this, mindful. Respectful, even. Giving Allen space was a conscious choice, one that required that less time be spent out in the field and more time building rapports between himself and his contacts at MACUSA.

Julian can tell that it’s paid off for him. “It’s been a month since I last saw you.”

Allen starts to say something, only for his voice to form sheepish laughter instead of words. He has this nervous tick where he plays with his hair, never mind how short it is and how obvious the gesture. The healer gestures at his unfinished paperwork, gestures at Julian standing there in his office, and clears his throat. “Yeah, I was beginning to think you’d left for England.”

“I’d never do that, not without saying ‘good-bye’ first.”

Allen’s smile seems to falter at that. Julian tries to explain himself but the healer is already speaking again, “You know, a week would’ve been enough to soften me up.”

Julian feels his cheeks heat up as his lips jump into a grin. “So a date?”

“Ask me properly,” Allen replies, rolling his eyes as he fails to maintain the stern gaze and pretend I’m-mad-at-you look.

Julian laughs as he bows forward and twirls his hand. “Barry Allen, would you do me, Julian Albert Desmond, the honor of spending the day with me?”

Allen’s red in the face when he accepts Julian’s hand. “If I can pull it off in a professional capacity, keeping an eye on you for several weeks at a time, I think I should be able to put up with you for a day.”

Hawthorn, eleven and three-quarter inches, lithe and supple. Allen clears out his schedule with a flick of his wrist. He offers an arm to Julian and whisks them away in the blink of an eye.


	3. jealousy/(protectiveness)

A thousand droplets dot the window pane and Barry Allen counts the same ones over and over again. Rain splatters against the glass and disrupts his pattern. He eyes the far-off chimney leaking smoke in the distance and thinks, briefly, that it’s cold enough to make use of the fireplace.

He makes no motion to leave bed.

_Julian, this is exactly why I didn’t want you in the field! You should have just stayed with Cisco and Caitlin._

Ugly. That’s how he remembers his voice.

Barry doesn’t snarl at people but that’s exactly what it sounds like. A vicious bitter thing.

_They have powers and they **still** stay in the lab! You should have just stayed put._

He traps his shame between his head and his hands, just presses it flat across his face. This way, he can wear it like a mask. Like a reminder.

The bedsheets feel hot against his skin. Too many layers. He’s suffocating beneath them so he kicks and he thrashes and they fall to the ground. Barry twists and turns until he’s curled up in a ball.

_How could you have put yourself at risk like that? Why would you do that?_

Bad, Barry, bad.

By the time he notices how Julian’s lips crack, it’s already too late.

_Because I’m tired of sitting here feeling useless! Because I’m tired of telling you “I understand, Barry” because I actually don’t and I can’t sit here **lying to your face** any longer! Do you know how many times I’ve thought you were dead? Did you know that I cry behind your back? I can’t do this anymore, I can’t watch you do this anymore._

He hears Julian’s footsteps echo inside the hollow of his skull, whistling like the wind; he can’t catch the wind. He can’t hold the wind, he can’t embrace the wind. He can’t do anything about Julian walking away. About Julian leaving.

The laundry machine churns with no regard for his emotional state. Downstairs, Wally whistles some ol’ radio tune.

_Wait, Julian, where are you going?_

Barry closes his eyes.

_I don’t know. Right now, though, I can’t be here. I can’t be around you, I need to stop worrying myself sick about you._

The world is wet with fog and Barry’s mind swims in the haze.

_I love you, Barry, but I can’t save you from yourself._


	4. free day: domesticity

Barry does not think that he is a slob, by any means. He doesn’t leave clothes on the floor, he doesn’t put his towel on the bed after he’s done using it, he showers every morning and sometimes every night– he’s a very hygienic person, okay?

So he does not take kindly to the face Julian pulls when he starts carving a patch of mold off his toast.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m… cleaning my bread?”

Julian grabs the slice out of his hand and tosses it into the sink. Just tosses the entire damn thing into the sink. So rude.

“Did you just throw my bread in the sink?”

Julian stares at him. “Yes. That’s where the garbage disposal is.”

Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Julian doesn’t have even the slightest bit of remorse, let alone _respect_  for the dead.

“It was perfectly good bread!” Barry argues as he throws his hands up into the air.

“Barry. Mold spores are microscopic. If you can see them on your toast, then it’s… toast.” Julian cringes and ducks away.

Barry’s jaw drops. “No, you do not get to make cute cheeky puns to get out of this. I’m mad at you, you threw my bread into our sink.”

Julian huffs. “I wasn’t even trying to make a pun.”

“Yeah, well, you owe me new bread.”

Julian hands him a bagel and this becomes the story that he tells people at dinner parties.


	5. hurt/comfort

**ALBERT DESMOND, JULIAN**  
TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH BEFORE BEDTIME. DO NOT SWALLOW WHOLE. ALLOW TABLET TO COMPLETELY DISSOLVE. **DO NOT TAKE WITH WATER**. **DO NOT CRUSH OR CHEW**.  
ZOLPIDEM TARTRATE 10MG TABLETS

Sleeping pills. Julian’s been taking sleeping pills.

There’s an easy explanation for the insomnia but it’s harder to find one for the bottle just sitting there on Julian’s desk. It’s not like him, not with his compulsive need to maintain his privacy.

Barry debates setting it back down where he found it or stuffing it in one of Julian’s drawers.

Both options go up in a cloud of smoke the moment Julian comes back from the restroom and spots him holding his pills.

“Do you mind?” Julian thrusts out his hand. Indignation dances across his eyes as his nostrils flare.

Barry can’t exactly blame him for feeling like there’s been some sort of violation or breach, even if the pills were just lying around. Gingerly, he relinquishes the evidence of Julian’s less than stellar mental state and opens his mouth to offer his condolences.

Julian collapses in his chair, looking very much like a frumpled dog. “Don’t ask me about it, Allen, I know that’s what you do.” He lifts a hand to his forehead and grimaces. “Please don’t try to fix me, I’m not broken.”

“No, but you’re looking pretty fragile there, Julian,” Barry exhales. He catches his mouth between his hands and wishes that being the fastest man alive meant he could beat his own tongue.

Julian, ever convinced that he has to face the world on his own, lets out a paltry laugh. “And? I can’t expect you to be there to catch me when I fall.”

In that moment, something clicks. Barry furrows his brow as if a fog has lifted and he’s seeing clearly for the first time. In those words, something slides into place. He opens his mouth to argue, only to realize that Julian is, unsurprisingly, right about this.

“Barry.” Julian’s words filter through a timid smile you’d needn’t use with a friend. “Barring the voice that’s been whispering in my head these past four years, I’ve managed quite well on my own. I don’t want you to burden yourself with my, my _insomnia_ , for god’s sake.”

Barry’s voice is small when he replies, “Insomnia’s just a symptom, Jul.”

“I know. I know, but there’s no amount of psychotherapy that will get me out of this slump. I don’t need someone to listen to me, Barry. I need someone to treat me like I’m–”

“Like you’re normal.”

Julian crushes the heel of his palm against his eyes. His willowy haunted laugh fills the room once more. “ _Yes_ , exactly. I have to focus on what I can control. What I can change, how I can help. Running circles around myself isn’t doing my team justice.” Julian sinks further down his seat. “Despite what my brooding good looks might suggest, I’m not into self-flagellation.”

Julian is stronger than anyone bothers to give him credit for. He knows himself well and that’s more than what most people can claim.

Barry snaps his fingers. “I’ve an idea. Wait here, and close your eyes!” Lightning streaks across the lab as he takes off, leaving behind a flutter of paperwork.

Piece by piece, Barry sets up the surprise: ‘Get well soon!’ balloons litter each of the four corners of the lab, a vase of cheerful tulips appears on Julian’s desk, and a chocolate cake with ‘because why not?’ icing sits in the center of it all.

Julian registers the scene with a few blinks and bites back his amazement. “Is it normal for you to throw a party whenever one of your co-workers is feeling blue?”

Barry just shrugs. “I mean, it wouldn’t be hard. ‘Course, Cisco might be just a _little_ bit jealous if he finds out I did this for you first. Promise not to tell?”

Again, Julian covers his face with his palm, only this time he’s shaking with mirth. “I am _not_ going to be your dirty little secret.”

“Who said anything about this being dirty!” Barry cries out, the grin on his face starting to ache.

Julian rolls his eyes and waves the comment off with a toss of his hand. He shakes his head to and fro and laughs. “Thank you, Barry.”

“For?” Barry asks, half-cheeky, half-humbled.

“For caring.” Julian smiles that shy little smile of his when he realizes that you’re not going to bite. “For being a friend.”

Barry claps a hand upon Julian’s shoulder and says, “Anytime, man. Anytime. Now how’s about you help me out with this cake?”

Julian gapes at him, astounded for whatever reason that there’s cake to be had. “You are _not_ getting the first slice of _my_ cake!”

“Whoa!” Barry throws his hands up in self-defense, laughing as soon as Julian corpses. “ _Your_ cake? Since when is it your cake? I bought it with _my_ money.”

“You bought it for me, you arse!” Julian has to have the last word in, never mind the fact that Barry’s serving him a slice.


	6. soulmates au

As a man of science, Julian Albert has a working theory that there can only be so many times you screw up in one lifetime: One, disappointing your family to the point of fleeing to another country; two, murdering your own soulmate under the influence of a vindictive god of speed; three, falling in love with a man who is so obviously enamored with his own soulmate.

He shatters the notion the night he leans in and kisses Barry Allen on the cheek, forgetting that Iris West is, and always has been, a part of the picture. Julian apologizes profusely, stammering out excuse after excuse: “I must have had more than I realized” or “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me” and his personal favorite “I was under the impression that this was a dream”.

That last rambling, it should be the stake in his coffin, the coup de grace.

But Barry is too kindhearted to recoil in either fear or disgust. Instead, he lets out a sheepish laugh and a predictable “I’m flattered, Julian, really, I just… hope we can still be friends?” which warms Julian’s heart as much as it makes him bleed.

“Yes, of course,” he answers in a hurry, forever wondering just how desperate he sounds to mend things.

Yet Barry never judges. Barry always gives him the benefit of the doubt. It’s that ability of his to see past the hurt and the pain, to recognize that there’s someone worthwhile under all the petty spite, that makes Julian’s heart race like there’s no tomorrow.

*

Days go by without incident. Julian troubleshoots Cisco’s pet projects, Julian talks medicine with Caitlin, Julian teaches Wally how to play guitar, Julian reads HR’s manuscript, Julian gets coffee with Joe. The only people he makes a point to avoid are Barry and Iris, the former because he doesn’t trust himself and the latter out of principle. He’s already betrayed her once. He doesn’t need to do it again, let alone in front of her.

The stress continues to mount, however, as Iris insists on throwing herself in harm’s way, wanting so very much to make her mark on the world. And Barry, having been the hero for so long, cannot fathom why she has to risk his life when he’s done it enough for all of them.

Julian plays the idle witness, watching as the so-called future tears them apart. He should be as upset as Barry looks as they sit together in his apartment, watching reruns of Star Trek and sharing a bowl of pirate’s booty. But the truth is, he’s happy. He’s _happy_  for the conflict between the two of them and it sickens him to his core. He’s a selfish ugly person, but…

Julian takes solace in the fact that he stops Barry from leaning in like he did before.

“Why not?” Barry asks.

“Because you’ll regret it,” Julian says.

“Did you regret it?”

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of Barry to ask him that. “No. I don’t. But your soulmate is still alive, Barry, I’m… unattached, as it were. Of course I’d go and develop feelings for someone who’s already spoken for. It’s just my luck.” Like every other shitty thing that’s happened to him.

“Julian.” Rough calloused fingers wrap around Julian’s hand. “Ever since you, ever since that kiss, I’ve asked myself a million times over, how do we know that soulmates are real? I’ve tried to change my fate so many times now and it’s always gone bad–or that’s what I believed, until I met you.

“I just can’t… I’ll never be able to reconcile accepting that there’s one person in the world who’s _meant for me_  when I’ve been crazy enough to try to bring back the dead. If we’re gonna change the future, I feel like it follows that I get to choose who I want to be.”

They’re such pretty words. Julian doesn’t have the heart to challenge him, not when Barry’s so close and so willing.

“All right.”

“All right?”

Julian nods. “All right, I’ll… if this is what you want, and it’s so blindingly obvious that this is what I want, I’ll give this a shot.”

Barry kisses him, really kisses him, and the once-lost feeling of belonging touches his very soul; Julian tells himself not to cry, between the guilt and the relief, but he’s never been a very emotional creature and his feelings always get out of hand.

“I don’t care if we’re meant to be or not, you make me happy, Julian.”

There’s no point, Julian realizes, in trying to quantify the rights he’s done by Barry versus the wrongs. The numbers will never work out, the rules will always bend. There is no law in this universe that dictates how many times he’s allowed to screw up and, consequently, be forgiven.

“I don’t know what to say, other than _thank you_.”


End file.
